


You Bury Me

by resurrectedhippo



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Depression, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Grief/Mourning, M/M, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Peter is an adult when he gets with Tony, Pining, Tony gets snapped instead of Peter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-30
Updated: 2020-10-30
Packaged: 2021-03-08 23:55:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,457
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27285268
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/resurrectedhippo/pseuds/resurrectedhippo
Summary: “You bury me this time.”May you bury me. May I die before you. Because I love you too much to see you go.“No, never,” Tony whispered in between kisses.But Peter understood that Tony meantstay.Another 10 years, another lifetime. No burials. He’d bury himself in the deepest parts of Tony and call it home.
Relationships: Peter Parker & Steve Rogers, Peter Parker/Tony Stark
Comments: 26
Kudos: 126
Collections: DarkBloodWolf13's Collection





	You Bury Me

**Author's Note:**

> YA’ABURNEE (Arabic): Literally translating to “you bury me,” a term of endearment expressing the desire to die before a loved one, rather than live without them. [From this poem.](https://www.rattle.com/yaaburnee-by-zeina-hashem-beck/)
> 
> Peter is an adult when he and Tony get together.

Peter was 16 when the Benetar Milano landed on the Compound’s grounds. 

Captain America ran towards him, grabbing him by shoulder, pressing Peter’s face to his chest, while he looked and looked for a man that wouldn’t — couldn’t — come out of the ship.

It was just Peter and Nebula. 

“I lost, Cap. I lost Mr. Stark. He’s gone. I’m so — I’m sorry.” Peter said in between sobs. He felt boneless, even if his body was reduced to just bones three weeks in the spaceship. He really thought he’d die of starvation.

“It’s alright, Queens, I got you. I’m here.” Captain America bent down and grabbed the back of his legs, holding him like a child. 

He wasn’t a child anymore. 

Peter wanted to protest but he couldn’t muster the energy to yell at Captain America and tell him he should have been there. He should have had Mr. Stark’s back. Peter’s seen them in the field together and they were magical. Moved like two classically trained dancers, throwing and catching each other’s leaps, the sound of their pants following the rhythm of the battle. 

All Mr. Stark had in Titan was Peter, Dr. Strange, and a group of aliens. 

Peter held Mr. Stark as he vanished into dust. The embrace started heavy with desperation and faded into nothingness. The last thing Peter saw was Mr. Stark’s defeated smile. 

Mr. Stark didn’t cry. He was always one to put on a brave face.

* * *

In the hospital room, Ms. Potts pushed his hair back and murmured about how Mr. Stark would be so proud of him. “So, you have to be strong, get better and be strong.” 

He didn’t ask her what the point was. 

Peter felt numb. He couldn’t keep the liquid foods down, throwing up on the container sitting permanently by the bedside table every time he tried to speak about what happened in Titan.

“The reports could wait, kid,” Colonel Rhodes said, squeezing his shoulder then patting his back. 

“He called me that, you know. _Kid._ ” 

All Peter wanted to do was prove himself. 

He remembered Mr. Stark being in their apartment in Queens for the first time. Mr. Stark sat on his chair with unfolded clothes thrown carelessly across his bed, a look of dismay and maybe, Peter had let himself hope, interest. Them, sitting side by side on his twin bed, sheets starchy from too many washes. Tony smelled like sweat and he had looked exhausted. The black eye made him more handsome. They sat in a room too small for such a bright, larger-than-life man. Back then, Peter wondered whether the foundations of the apartment complex would rock and implode because Tony Stark was a force even this world couldn't sustain. 

Well, now he's gone.

“Peter.” Colonel Rhodes sighed deeply and dropped to the foot of the bed. 

Peter gritted his teeth at the ringing of the monitors and the smell of iodine in the room. He was seeing too much and feeling nothing at all.

“Can I be part of the debrief?”

“Rest, first. You need to recover. We need you to —” 

“I’m fine,” he insisted, frustrated because they couldn't see that Peter was alive and Mr. Stark was gone. Zip, zapped, disappeared. They could go to deep space and desperately try to find traces of him, but there would be none. Peter saw the look of surprise on his face as his torso receded into nothingness. “There are things I know. I need to give the report, it might be useful, Colonel Rhodes. Please. I need to be useful right now.”

“We’ll postpone the debrief for a couple of days. Get some rest, there'll be a lot of questions.” Colonel Rhodes stood and offered him a glass of water. He paused, letting Peter take small sips before setting it down on the table. He turned away so Peter couldn’t see him, but it was obvious from the tone of his voice that Colonel Rhodes was crying. “Did he. How was he? At the end? Did he say anything? Was he scared?”

 _Be good, Avenger._

Those were Tony’s final words.

“He wasn’t scared. He smiled.”

Colonel Rhodes choked on a wet sob. Peter couldn’t tell if his body was shaking because he was crying or laughing. Maybe both. “Well, that pisses me off.”

* * *

After the explosive debrief, Captain America came striding into Peter’s recovery room. He stood with his back straight, broad shoulders pulled back. Face clean-shaven.

There was a time when Peter caught Mr. Stark reading news sightings and reports on Captain America’s crew. Mr. Stark used to flick the holo screens filled with blurry pictures of Captain America while he fiddled with the suit, a glass of scotch near his fingertips. 

Peter should remain respectful, but he wanted nothing but to clock Steve Rogers in the face. He didn’t deserve the Captain America title.

He wasn’t even Captain America anymore. 

Tony still had the shield in the Compound’s lab. 

“Peter, I’m sorry that I pushed too hard earlier. You understand that we were just trying to gather as much information on Thanos as possible.”

He held up a hand. His body was already healing. It was easier to keep the food down now. He was fine. “Just. Stop. Please.”

Steve bit his lip, hands flexing on his side. He tried to make himself approachable with that _Trust me, I’m Captain America look._

Mr. Stark gave the world this man. 

Peter kind of hated Steve for it.

Because why. Why did anyone try to ruin a good thing. 

“There’s nothing else to do,” Peter said, slugging back to his pillows. He mustered as much hate he could in this little body of his. He could smell Steve, the sweat on him, the righteousness that Mr. Stark used to talk about affectionately, then later, after Germany, with resignation and a quiet sense of despair. “You. You told him! You’d be there! You said the Avengers do things together! How could you make people believe that you’re a team when you fucked off to God knows where! Do you even know —” 

He choked, grabbing a pillow and punching it flat. “Do you even know what he was like after? You don’t! You weren’t there. Where were you, Cap? You didn’t care, you didn’t! He always had the phone in the lab, you know, he always had it sitting between us as worked on the suit. As he helped me with my homework, as he —” Peter closed his eyes, letting the tears fall. He didn’t try to stop the desperation in his face, the anger and blame all for the man who stood before him. 

Tony had squeezed his neck and told him _good job, kid._ Praised his calculations and development on the web fluid. Laughed as Peter did backflips and climbed the walls of the lab in his new suit. “I was there! The whole time, not just in Titan. I was there. You didn’t see it. You didn’t see how he was because you left. And how dare you be back here, in his space, in his house?”

Captain America stared at Peter with wide eyes, as if this was all news to him. A damned revelation. He opened and closed his mouth, jaw tight until it finally loosened with short pop. “I’m. I tried. I wanted to call. I just —”

“Coward,” Peter spat out, annoyed that Captain America had the audacity to look appalled and ashamed. Shame was for people who had remorse. Captain America should have groveled for Mr. Stark’s forgiveness. 

“Yeah.”

“I held him together with tape and glue. Web fluid, really. Made him laugh. And you know what — he still wanted you to come home.” Peter wiped his face. He’s said too much. It wasn’t his right and he was on the verge of hysterics because he’s just admitted something he could never utter in front of Mr. Stark. “Where the fuck where you.”

“I was afraid.”

He scoffed. “Oh, of what. I thought Captain America was supposed to be brave.”

Steve shook his head. “No, that’s all Tony. At the end of the day, he’s the best of us.” 

“And we lost him,” Peter said, continuing before Steve could say apologies. 

There was nothing else to say. 

“Get out, please. Just leave.” 

Steve looked like he had more to say, another argument, another reason. Mr. Stark was right, Cap didn’t know when to give things a rest. “I’ll let you sleep, then.” 

Peter didn’t get any sleep that night.

* * *

There were speeches about getting the stones and snapping everyone back. They returned from Garden with flighty eyes. 

Peter, sixteen, too young, too young, too young, already knew the verdict. 

“It’s done,” he said to himself, observing the way Ms. Potts shook her head and pounded on Colonel Rhodes’ chest.

Ms. Potts and Mr. Stark have been friends forever. She would often pop by the lab and bring them take-out and yell at Tony for not getting enough sleep, and how come Tony’s letting Peter stay up so late, he should be asleep.

She wailed. It was a big, uncomfortable scream that shook them all into silence. Even Thor’s stoic face melted into something softer, sadder. 

Colonel Rhodes wrapped an arm around Ms. Potts, rocking her back and forth until her cries subsided. He deposited Ms. Potts beside Peter and pulled him into a hug. “I’m sorry, kid.”

 _It’s alright,_ was on the tip of his tongue, an automatic response. But he didn’t say it. It wasn’t alright. Nothing was ever going to be alright. Because. Mr. Stark. He’s gone. He’s gone. Dead. Not coming back. 

It’s over and Peter should have had more time with him. He’s psyched himself into believing that proximity was enough. He believed that maybe when he was older, maybe if he was smarter, if he worked harder, if he became better, the best, a perfect version of himself then maybe Mr. Stark would see — somewhere down the line, that hey, they _could be._

Agent Romanoff stared at the holo screens showing them planets and planets, endless galaxies and dead rocks miles away. Her eyes were wide, red-rimmed, and under them were deep bags that made her cheeks look shallow. 

Beside her, Captain America stood with arms crossed over his chest, lips twisted into a frown. He moved to the middle of the room like he owned the place. No, Mr. Stark funded this place. It might say Avengers on the side of the building, but this was Stark made. 

Peter had spent days in his lab and hours in the large gym training with Colonel Rhodes. Mr. Stark was always there, sometimes in his suit, firing his repulsor on training bots. Sometimes, he’d be in his joggers and a loose shirt, sweaty from boxing with Happy. 

“The world’s been left in our hands. If we don’t do something with it...then Thanos might as well have killed all of us,” Captain America said.

“How. How could you say that.” Peter left the room, smacking Captain America’s shoulder as he left.

He might look like a teenager throwing a tantrum. But, whatever, he was a kid that grew up too soon. Peter ignored Ms. Pott’s calls, running to the lab and crying over Mr. Stark’s desk. He stared at the painting beside the Pollock and sobbed harder.

* * *

They had a funeral. For who, Peter didn’t know. Maybe not just Mr. Stark, but all the lives lost, snapped out in an instant. Wanda Maximoff. Vision. The Black Panther and Princess Shuri would call in, tele-conferencing with Mr. Stark and Peter about their developing progress. They were gone too.

There were others to mourn, but there were no bodies recovered, so they didn’t bother with a casket. 

Ms. Potts met them all at the lake that ran from the Compound to Atlantic. In her arms were a bouquet of flowers, a mix of daisies and baby's breath, and in the middle there was the old model of the arc reactor. Peter read all about it years ago at the Stark Expo. 

She set the bouquet onto the lake and it drifted. Away, away, gone, like all things good in the world. Colonel Rhodes held her as she cried and behind them, Cap's face was filled with tears. 

Peter looked away, glad for once that Mr. Stark’s ex-lover had nothing to say. He forced himself to calm down and stop crying, he looked stupid. He looked childish for fuck’s sake. He wanted to web Steve Rogers to the ground, get on top of him, and punch his face bloody.

_You lied, you lied. You broke him, you hurt him. So much. He drank all the time until it was abnormal for his breath to smell like anything other than coffee beans and scotch._

_He didn’t smile for a long time. But he laughed for me. Because of me. I was there. You weren’t there. You weren’t there, Cap. I stayed._

Peter didn’t want to hear apologies or accolades in a damned eulogy. There was nothing to say because Mr. Stark was too good for words, too big, too bright, more than life itself. There’s still half the world, but for Peter, it felt emptier and emptier by the day, like watching water go down the drain.

* * *

Peter turned 17 when the first holidays without Tony and Aunt May came.

It came, like an old dedicated friend, coming around year after year. Then it went, like how old, broken things go too. Like the way people throw out Christmas trees after New Year’s. If Tony was a Christmas tree, bright and light, smelling of evergreen, mint, freshness, and so much soul, Peter would never have the will to dispose of him. 

It was just last year when he wrote Mr. Stark a hand-made art with a doodle of DUM-E. 

_Happy Thanksgiving!_

Short, simple. A letter — barely one at all — stating his gratitude. Peter wrote the year and signed it as: _Your Friendly Neighborhood Spiderman._

He didn’t even emphasize the possessive pronoun. 

Mr. Stark might have already known.

He spent his birthday that past year with Aunt May. They had dinner at an Ethiopian restaurant, sharing a _beyaynetu_ platter.

Aunt May pushed her glasses up and said, “Earth to Peter, ground control, ground control. Where are you?”

“I’m here,” he said as if it was obvious. He stuffed an _injera_ into his mouth, enjoying the burst of flavors with the lamb. 

“You got that look. Moony-eyed. Did Tony Stark build you a new suit?”

The day before, he and Mr. Stark spent the afternoon in the lab blowing things up and testing the limits of his web shooter. Mr. Stark surprised him by clearing a space in his labspace in the Compound and directed Peter to sit on a stool there.

Peter, shocked and elated, said, “really?”

“Don’t look so surprised, you practically live there.” Mr. Stark replied, having a hand and turning to make himself an espresso. He didn’t see the huge grin on Peter’s face.

Aunt May made a tutting noise and shook her head. “As long as it’s just a crush, as long as it’s just that, Peter.”

Peter swallowed, the _doro wat_ he was picking on suddenly felt too hot, too spicy. So much heat. He leveled with Aunt May, tried to effect some light-heartedness, “Jeez, Aunt May, he’s my mentor… besides, he’d never.”

She sighed and changed the subject.

* * *

But then, that Christmas, the last one Tony was still alive for, Peter was a little braver. He forced himself to stop being a coward. It’s alright. It’s just a holiday card. A greeting.

He wrote Mr Stark another card. DUM-E, Butterfingers, and You all trying to attack Peter in the lab.

_Happy Christmas, Mr. Stark. Thank you. For everything._

_Love,  
Peter  
_

Concise, to the point, almost professional because if Peter had the chance, he’d ramble on and on about everything he was thankful for. Better to keep it short.

He left it on Tony’s desk before he had to go back to Queens and exchange presents with Aunt May. When he returned to the Compound after the holidays, the card was framed and hung between a Barnett Newman and a Jackson Pollock. 

Peter was jaw-slacked when he found that those were originals beside his stupid, homemade card. 

Mr. Stark laughed, a happy light sound, then like a sing-song, he said, “Gotta keep that masterpiece up there with the rest. Besides, if I left it taped on my desk, there’s no doubt it’ll catch fire. Too many times I’ve burned something here with the soldering iron, kid.” He squeezed Peter’s neck before walking back to his station.

* * *

He went to school because it filled up his time. Then, he graduated and signed the half-assed Accords because that’s all that’s left of their world. Unsurprisingly, Steve Rogers, once again Captain America, championed the cause. He had nothing else to do.

It was a bitter pill to swallow. Captain America and some new recruits were back living in the Compound. No one tried to bother Peter about accessing Mr. Stark’s lab. It was his place. 

Captain Danvers was off in space, checking in with Agent Romanoff in the common room. Dr. Bruce Banner had given Peter company in the lab those first few months, but he left and no one has heard anything from him in weeks.

Agent Romanoff drank too much and fell asleep with her head ducked over her arms in the conference room at least three days a week. Peter’s seen Captain America put a blanket over her several times. 

Peter was 18 when he moved into the Compound after graduation. He couldn’t afford the rent in Queens. Even in a crisis, his living landlord still wanted to charge him. Aunt May was gone, and sometimes Peter was so caught up in his grief over Mr. Stark, he forgot her too. 

Well, he didn’t forget. She’s a dull ache in his chest. But Mr. Stark was all over the schematics of the Compound. He’s in FRIDAY’s code. He’s in the fifty-something suits that were stored in the basement. Red and gold, red and gold. He’s in the design of the holo-screens, in the way DUM-E and the rest of the bots whirl and dance around the lab to cheer Peter up.

There was this mug in the lab that reminded untouch, next to a bottle of scotch, half empty. 

Half. Half. Half.

Half the world empty. 

His other half was gone.

* * *

In the mug was maybe half a shot of scotch. 

There was this time, after Germany, after Siberia, when Mr. Stark returned and drank like he wouldn’t survive without alcohol in his system, almost as much as Agent Romanoff drank now. 

It didn’t make Peter love him any less.

“Have you been in the lab all night?”

“Now you're sounding like Pepper and St—” Mr. Stark cut off and shook his head. His black tank had some stains and there was oil on his cheek. He turned back to the armor, his arms flexing. 

What did it say that Peter sounded like Mr. Stark’s old lovers. He just wanted to take care of him. 

“Plus, I’ve just made a breakthrough with the nano-tech, come look over here, kid.” Mr. Stark added, waving him over.

Peter moved fast, leaping over. Eager, too damned, eager, Parker. He had half the mind to reprimand himself, but he was distracted by Mr. Stark and FRIDAY updating him on the nanobots.

“You should sleep,” Peter said. They just spent the last five hours messing around with Peter’s suit. Mr. Stark came up with a new project: Item 17A, the Iron Spider. It had four spider-legs. It was badass and totally awesome.

"Giving me the namesake, Mr. Stark?"

“Sorry, kid, I’m not the marrying type.” Mr. Stark started with a laugh, but seemed to realize the gravity of what he just said and frowned. He padded over to grab the coffee mug. Peter knew it wasn’t coffee in there. “I’ve always had trouble sleeping,” Mr. Stark admitted, sipping and licking the taste from his lips. “Harder now, you know. Steve’s gone.”

“Yeah.” Peter couldn’t look away from him. He glanced down at the flip phone sitting on the coffee table. It was set to the highest volume no doubt. “He hasn’t called?”

Mr. Stark shook his head. He tried to laugh but it sounded too forced, so he stopped. Instead, he dropped to his stool, spun a wrench, and said, “He was the big spoon, you know? A big guy like him, of course he was. Kept me warm. Bed’s too big now. Shit. Sorry, kid, you don’t have to listen to an old man complain about his love life.”

 _I can be your little spoon,_ Peter choked back the words. He’s nothing like Captain America, he knew that. He wouldn’t try to be like him, anyway. 

“You’re not that old. I’m here to listen, Mr. Stark.”

“Got nothing better to do, huh?”

“Nope, I just enjoy messing around in the lab with you.”

“Kid, you’re too nice, no need to be.”

“The world could use a little more kindness, Aunt May always said.”

Tony smiled. It was softer, less tense, a little more hopeful.

A burst of warmth erupted from Peter’s chest. Something loosened in Peter’s chest. He didn’t even know there was blockage at all, wide and looming as a blank wall. A deep wave, the tide fell over and he was there, in that moment. Fall in love with a man who’d never see him as anything other than a kid. 

But Peter would trace the tilt of that smile and chase it across the world. 

He has.

* * *

One day, Cap snapped at him during a debrief after an attack by Dr. Otto Octavius. 

“It was the right call!” Peter threw up his hands. 

“You’re too reckless in the field. Instead of yapping your mouth and chattering in the comms’, focus, so you don’t get hit.”

“Ha.” He shoved his feet on the conference table just to piss off Cap. Then, he titled back on his chair, mask still on. 

“You know, I’m right.”

“Save it, Cap, you know it wasn’t about speaking in comm’s. I was focused. I made the right call. If I didn’t swoop down on that bus, there would have been at least 50 kids going down the river.”

“You could have gotten seriously injured if War Machine didn’t catch you on time.” Steve pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. He dropped down on a chair and faced Peter. “Please, be careful, Peter. I tell you this, time and time again. After every mission, it seems like you’re — “ he huffed. “You’re like Tony.”

Peter could feel the rest of the New Avengers staring at them. 

“We done here?”

It’s not like Cap could write him up for insubordination? Who was he gonna turn the paperwork to — the UN was a mess.

* * *

He’s been living in the New Avengers facility for awhile now. Part of the roster, part of the official team since he turned 18. Cap babysat him and benched him from the field until he was of age. Nevermind that Peter was the only living Avenger who saw the pitfalls of Titan. 

Cap was in charge and sometimes, Captain Danvers broke his jaw and called him a jackass. 

Nat still drank too much but she never slurred and she never gave up hope that Agent Barton was out there somewhere. There were sightings of him in Caracas and Bangkok, but he didn’t return to the Compound, no matter how many times Nat tried to put a bounty over his head. 

Peter was 19 when things with Cap changed. 

Mostly, they’ve ignored each other ever since the funeral.

They worked together because it was work.

They trained together because they had to.

They lived in the same facility because there was nowhere else to go.

This was the home they knew, an infrastructure built and polished by a man who they still mourned. Even now. Maybe always.

There hasn’t been a large-scale attack on Earth since Thanos. No crisis has ever topped the chaos of losing half the human species. There was a job for superheroes and the mission was to rebuild.

They had to make sure people were safe, but mostly, they hoped that civilians wouldn’t become jaded and faithless like the superheroes they looked up to.

* * *

Peter was out in the gardens, swinging along the Compounds when he found Nat sitting by the docks. He tried not to pass that area because the grief of loss still stung with the heaviness of finality. Peter was getting better. He was. He was moving on. He’s wrapping up his second year at Columbia. In between humanitarian efforts, local patrols, school, and lab time, he was busy. He was keeping his head up. Drowning himself in work so he didn’t have to think about Mr. Stark, Aunt May, and all that they’ve lost. 

She looked up, hands still in a steeple. “Hey, Spidey.”

“Hi, Widow.” 

Peter dropped beside her, sitting cross-legged. “What are you doing out here?”

“Just thinking.”

“Ah, very intellectual of you. Sitting in the quiet and looking over a late like it has all the answers.”

“Maybe it does.” She rolled her eyes. 

They stayed silent, humming to the tune of the world turning around and around like nothing has changed. Everything goes. Everything dies. Just because someone passed it didn’t mean that the world stopped spinning. 

“You know, you should stop fighting with Steve.”

Peter sighed, shedding off his jacket. Summer was coming soon. Another year gone. “I’m not fighting with, Cap.”

“Arguing, then.” 

“It’s not an argument if his points are invalid and hardly make sense.”

Nat cracked a smile. It had a nice effect, but it didn’t remove the sorrow deep in her eyes. “You sound like him, you know. Steve doesn’t know what to do with that.”

_Him._

She didn’t need to specify because no one uttered Mr. Stark’s — Tony’s — name in Compound. They’d say _He. Him. He. Him._

Cap was the only one who said _Tony_ and it sounded broken and filled with regret, like a musical box set at the wrong tune. Sometimes, Peter thought Cap didn’t have the right to say it, after everything. After all that’s happened between them. 

“You know, it’s not Steve’s fault —”

“Never said it was, never blamed him. I said he wasn’t there, and that’s the truth.” Peter breaths, inhaling the crisp-air. It was still nice out, not too humid and sticky. They might get more rain in the next week. 

“Can you try to get along, please?” Nat squeezed his bicep. “We’re all we have left.” There was a time when he thought she was indestructible. But those moments were colored by his youth and starry-eyed wonder at the Avengers. It wasn’t all flying and saving the world. Shit, they failed that and had to live with it. No, Peter has learned that the superhero gig was something they did because they had to, because they couldn’t live with themselves if —

Well, they couldn’t live with themselves now. 

These days, Nat was tired, softer, too worn by the misery of being the one to live.

“I can try, no promises, though.”

“He’s not what the textbooks made him out to be, huh?”

Peter snorted. Even after Germany, Mr. Stark never said a single bad thing about Cap. He could have. Viciously, Peter thought Mr. Stark should have said much more. He’d get a far away look, lose himself in following that string of thought, then snap himself back and paste on a false smile. Peter knew, his dimples showed. He only did that for the press. For Peter, in the lab, his grin showed the chip of his canines. 

“Or maybe Tony told you something —”

Peter shook his head before Nat could finish the question. “He only had good things, the best things, really, to ever say about Cap. After everything, even after he left him to fucking die in Siberia.”

Nat bit her lip and removed her hand from his arm. It’s not her place to justify Steve’s actions. 

“He only had good things to say about you, too.”

Further out the docks, the lake will meet the ocean and like clockwork, Peter wondered where the arc reactor swam. Maybe it was already buried in the seabed, rocking away with the rest of their desires and mistakes.

* * *

He and Steve got into a few more arguments after missions. There was a battle with Sandman and then Peter got stabbed by a mugger. He healed quickly and was fine. Cap was out there running towards bullets. He was just as bad. Their row erupted into some screaming, Mr. Stark was mentioned, once, twice,and Cap said something about how worried Mr. Stark would be if he knew what Peter was doing.

Peter slammed his fists on the table and removed his mask. “You should really stop talking about him.” 

Nat frowned. She wasn’t part of the mission because she was drunk and the last time she geared up, she fell off a building and Peter had to swing a quarter of a mile to catch her in time. Her eyes were still glassy. 

“Well, you never talk about him, do you, Pete?” Steve measured out, voice terse and too-knowing. He fucking hated it — despised that Steve once had Mr. Stark and ruined it. 

If Peter ever had the chance, well. 

Too late.

“Steve, come on, man, that’s enough.” Colonel Rhodes said. 

It really was getting out of hand. He didn’t hate Cap, but it wasn't easy standing next to him and being reminded of how things could have gone differently in Titan.

There’s too much blame, Peter knew this.

* * *

One evening, Cap was sitting in the common room, reading a paperback, _No Man Is an Island._

Peter rolled his eyes and perched on the sofa in front of him. 

“If you call me a bratty teenager with a tantrum, I’ll web you to the ceiling.” Peter deadpanned. He was the youngest of the New Avengers, but not by much. Colonel Rhodes had his eyes on recruiting a high schooler, Kamala Khan.

“I’d break out of it just fine.”

“I upgraded the web fluid to withstand enhanced strength.”

“Good to know.” Cap shut the book and set it beside him. He leaned forward, sighing. “Listen. We need to get along, Peter. We need to do better. We don’t have to be friends, but we’re a team. It’s hard enough that we have to do this without — you know, without Wanda, Sam, Clint, Tony.” 

“I know, Cap.” He said, defeated. Peter promised Nat that he’d try.

“Ok.” 

Peter stood, flicked his wrist and webbed himself to hang on the ceiling. Better this way. He was safer standing above Steve. “For the record, I don’t blame you for Mr. Stark. I’m sorry. I know, for years now, I’ve been a pain in the ass about it.”

“It’s alright.”

“No, it’s not.”

“No, it is. You’re mourning.” Cap rubbed his eyes, large hands hiding half of his face. “So am I. It’s fine.” 

That night, Peter wondered if they’d ever stop grieving a dead man.

* * *

They’re in a diner in Hell’s Kitchen. An old hole in the wall that had good donuts. Mr. Stark said they were almost as good as Randy’s. Peter’s never been there. It’s in California after all, but Mr. Stark promised him that one day, they’ll take a weekend off and visit the lab in Malibu.

The promises of a dead man weren’t worth much.

Peter kept hoping anyway. 

Steve suggested they meet and spend some time together outside the facility. Get to know each other. Peter shrugged and agreed, wondering if Steve wanted to befriend Mr. Stark’s old mentee because he felt guilty. After all these years, the weariness of guilt still pulled them down.

Peter named the diner. It was familiar and he hasn’t been here in years. The decor has changed. The jukebox was gone, replaced by a medium-sized flat screen TV. The floors were polished, but the booths remained a sticky, cracked leather. 

“Good to see you, Peter. It’s been a while.” The waitress, Mrs. Ramirez placed the menu down. 

“Hi, Mrs. Ramirez, sorry it’s been a while.” 

“No worries, sweetheart.” She smiled and looked like she wanted to say something more, maybe apologize, maybe off condolences like he was Tony Stark’s old lover. No, he wasn’t. That was Steve Rogers. “I’m glad… you made it.”

She grimaced then turned to Steve, “And you, too, Cap.” 

“You’ve been here before,” Steve said, pushing the menu to the side.

“Haven’t been here in a while,” Peter shrugged, flipping the menu back to back even though he already knew what he wanted. Blueberry pancakes, double stacked. A plate of eggs and bacon on the side. Tony was disturbed when he found Peter mixing his syrup and eggs. He laughed and shook his head and stole some of Peter’s pancakes. 

“Tony used to take you here, too, huh? He took his favorite people here.” 

“I wasn’t his favorite.” Peter said, biting down the second part. _You were._

“Yeah, you were.” 

“How do you know? You weren’t there when we Mr. Stark and I —”

 _Got close, became friends,_ he didn’t say.

“I could tell.” Steve replied, leaving it at that when Mrs. Ramirez returned to take their orders.

The conversation didn’t flow. It was filled with stutters, fragmented statements, and entire discussions filled with ellipses as if they were still figuring out how much pressure to put into each other.

According to Mr. Stark, Cap never backed down. When he encountered something difficult, he’d tell whatever that thing was, _no, you move._

But here was Steve Rogers, a little nervous, less angry. Maybe they were both afraid to fuck up this newfound stalemate.

Peter ate, answering Steve’s questions, then came up with his own.

But mostly, they talked in circles about Tony.

Peter didn’t know how Cap could fuck up so bad, but it was obvious he was still in love with Tony.

It was pitiful. 

Peter understood that.

* * *

It was easier after the late lunch at the diner. Sometimes, when he and Steve had a row about missions, they’d find each other at the same booth Tony took them years ago, reminiscing and sharing stories about all those that they lost. 

They talked about Tony. Tony. Tony. Tony. Tony.

It was months later when Peter finally asked, “Why’d you leave him?”

“All the reasons I had then are too stupid to say now. I thought — there were things that I thought I was right about and wouldn’t let it go. I never thought it would come to this.”

“To losing the world. To losing him, you mean?” 

“I knew I had lost him after Siberia, hell, maybe even before Germany. But I thought he’d be alive.” Steve fiddled with the sugar packets, stacking them in a tower that soon toppled over. “I thought we might be able to fix it.”

“Nevermind, Cap, you don’t have to explain,” Peter said when it was obvious that Steve was choking on his words and drowning in his memories. 

It wasn’t a rosy picture. There were many things Cap needed to apologize for, but he didn’t have to list them for Peter.

* * *

Things between Peter and Steve thawed. He learned about Steve and his time leading the Avengers with Tony post-Battle of New York. Steve had detailed stories he was willing to divulge as long as he and Peter worked on communicating better.

Sometimes it worked. Sometimes Peter ran out of the Compound, seething and annoyed. But it was alright.

Cap stopped railing him about professionalism while in the field and accepted his concise mission written mission reports. Didn’t ask for details, didn’t put him on training wheels. It was as if Cap was finally seeing him as an equal. 

And so it went, they trained together twice a week with the New Avengers and ran over battle simulations with FRIDAY. 

Tony was the thread that held their fragile friendship. Maybe if Germany never happened, maybe if that wasn’t the source of what went wrong between Steve and Mr. Stark, then Peter would have warmed up sooner. Shit, maybe he’d even look at Cap with awe. But the fight at the airport was his first experience with Steve and he let a ship container fall on him. He walked away.

It was fine. All done, all forgiven. 

Too much lost to be too angry, Peter thought. 

They watch vintage films and stupid art-house films that came out post-Snap, a certain flavor that Peter found hilarious. Steve couldn’t even defend it as cinema. 

But mostly, they talked because Nat was right. They were the only ones left. 

Captain America, the Black Widow, and Spiderman.

Sometimes Colonel Rhodes checked in but mostly, he spent his time in DC with Captain Danvers if she was in town. Sometimes Nat joined their movie nights, but mostly she had conference calls with Rocket and spent too much time looking for Agent Barton.

Months after that late lunch at the diner, Steve and Peter were in the lab. 

There’s evidence of Tony all over the place — in a rocky chair that remained unfixed, in the suits surrounding the far wall of the room, in the way that the latest armor laid akimbo on a massive desk, like a dead body waiting for an autopsy. 

Steve’s sitting on the sofa, sketching. “I used to do this, you know. In the Tower.” Peter glanced up from his equation. Steve stared at the Pollock painting, then continued, “Draw while Tony was working.”

“Oh. I’m sorry.”

“No, that’s not what I meant. I mean, this is comforting. Familiar.” Steve smiled, walking over to the Pollock painting. “Thanks, you know, for inviting me down here… I know it’s your space. With him.”

“Sorry, I didn’t invite you sooner.” Peter minimized a couple of the holo-screens and stepped over the litter of scraps on the floor. He stood beside Steve. “Wasn’t ready to share.”

“That’s alright.” He turned, offering a smile before tapping at the embarrassing sketch Peter gave Mr. Stark years ago. “He didn’t even hang mine up. You must be special.”

Peter’s face heated, embarrassed. “It was so stupid. He was just humoring me.”

“No, Tony wouldn’t do something he didn’t mean.”

Peter had a hundred questions, but he asked what he wanted to know the most, the question that kept him up at night. “How was it like? Being with him?”

Steve sighed, tracing the curve of Peter’s handwriting, fingertips dragging over the _Love, Peter,_ part. “Consuming,” Steve paused, licking his lips and laughing. “Overwhelming. But you wanted to be around his orbit anyway.”

“Yeah.”

“And when I thought it was impossible, he always had more love to give.”

“Sounds like him.”

Steve wiped his eyes before the tears could fall. “I fucked up, didn’t realize it until afterwards.” 

“Yeah, you did, Cap.” Peter tried to soften the words by bumping Steve’s shoulder. “He’d forgive you. He already has, trust me. I was there.”

* * *

On Peter’s 20th birthday, Nat baked a _ptichye moloko_. Colonel Rhodes and Captain Danvers flew to the Compound while Dr. Banner sent him a card. It was good, light, filled with old jokes that weren’t forced. It didn’t come easy, but they didn’t try to fill the stretches of silence. It was obvious that the Compound was too big for just a handful of people. They didn’t mention those that were gone.

He and Steve spent that evening walking the docks. The summer rain was comforting, almost enough to wash away the feeling that always came over with another year gone by. 

Another birthday, another milestone. 

“He liked to dance in the lab with the bots.” 

“Did you ever dance with him?” Peter asked, watching Steve’s profile. Even in the darkness, his eyes were sharp, a deep blue. Too knowledgeable. Too telling.

“I was too shy.”

“Me too,” Peter laughed. There were times when he was tempted to just get out of his stool and join Tony and the bots dancing to some blues song. 

“I should have though. If I had the chance again, I wouldn’t care about embarrassing myself. I think that was the thing, I was always too scared. He always asked, and I’d always say no. He never stopped asking.”

“If he was here, he’d probably ask you again.”

“Maybe,” Steve said, tone wistful. 

“He would,” Peter insisted. He paused by the edge of the dock. The waters were too dark to see his own reflection. He could only make out the lines of his face. It’s changed. He’s taller, broader, but still sad. At least, he wasn’t so lonely anymore.

“Wouldn’t know now, Peter. I’ll just keep dreaming.”

“You and me both, Cap.” 

They stared at the moon. A rock that was once seemingly far away. Now, it’s too close. Peter’s been to Titan and it had several faithful moons. He remembered the look on Tony’s face as he vanished into dust. Just atoms now. Peter wondered how such an ugly planet filled with awful memories could have a dedicated star.

* * *

Colonel Rhodes and Captain Danvers announced their engagement the day before they decided to get married. Dr. Banner was roped in to officiate the wedding and he flew from Tokyo hours before it was supposed to start. 

They had the wedding by the lake as the sun fell into the horizon. Dr. Banner, looming and green, and different from the man that Tony used to talk about, laughed and joked throughout the affair. 

Steve looked at him with a fatalistic smile, a dull reminder of how much has changed in just a few short years. 

It felt longer to Peter. 

Dinner was served at the Compound’s garden, a mix of Thai food and dimsum from the city. America Chavez appeared with Kamala Khan half-way through dinner, apologies on their lips about being late because they had school and then patrolling. Captain Danvers waved them off and scooted down the table to let them squeeze in. They chatted and exchanged stories and talked about the future and for a moment, had some semblance of happiness. 

Peter was 21 now, so he drank heavily with Nat without the pretense of not having had alcohol ever before. His body flushed the alcohol out of his system before he could get drunk.

Later, late in the evening, Peter walked into the lab to find Steve slumped over the chair. He was crying, not bothering to swipe his face or tone down the force of his sobs.

Peter walked over, sat beside him, pressing the line of their bodies close together. Another body, another form of comfort.

Sometimes he wondered if this was as close as he could get to Tony. As if leaning beside Steve, he might siphon some form of Tony — a memory, a story, a past. 

“I found this.” Steve opened his palm to reveal a small velvet box. “In Tony’s room. I know I shouldn’t have gone there. I know, I shouldn’t have, but I wanted to feel close to him again.”

Peter understood, he spent all his free time in the lab and refused to clean Tony’s workstation.

He flicked the box open, expecting to be hit with a pang of jealousy and rage because sometimes Steve still pissed him off and he wondered what Tony saw in him at all. But Peter knew it’s easy to love Steve. He couldn’t fault Tony for that. Maybe he was just jealous. Fuck if he knew.

“I wonder if I’ll ever stop feeling sorry.”

Peter closed the lid, not wanting to see how the vibranium glimmered or think about when Tony picked out the ring. “Probably not.”

“I’ve been lost in my own grief, I forgot you were hurting too.”

It happened because they’re drowning themselves in the guilt of surviving and because moving on was a sisyphean task. Steve was never able to do it, he admitted, still holding onto flickers of the past, and Peter, yearning for the happiest days. 

The days were darker now, blacker and grim. Maybe it was pitiful to measure how to live against a dead man. But here they were. 

They kissed. 

There were other people. Of course, there were other people. There was Wade who sucked his neck and made him come twice in the alley of a bar in Brooklyn. He fucked and was fucked by other people, other women, other men. He made love to MJ in his old apartment in Queens before they eventually laughed about it and she moved across the country to start somewhere new. Another city without too many ghosts. 

The kiss stopped and by some agreement, they headed to Steve’s room, holding each other until dawn. 

“This is a bad idea, Cap.” Peter started at the ceiling because there was a picture of Tony and Steve by the bedside table and while Peter was desperate to see that smile, he knew it wasn’t for him. 

Steve laughed. “You know, Tony said that, too.”

“He did?”

“Right? You’d think it was me, wouldn’t you?” 

Peter hummed. Steve was definitely a man who loved without remorse, all in, all at once, and always. Peter was the same.

“I guess he saw through you. Not all responsible and righteous as the media makes you out to me.” Peter laughed, smiling and feeling something settle in his belly as Steve kissed his collarbone. It didn’t hurt so much when he focused on the feeling of not being alone. Maybe it was the same for Steve. “What happened after he said that?”

“He fucked me stupid, then he had me fuck him until he couldn’t babble any techno-science talk. Wanted to experience my refractory period.”

“Sounds like a notable experiment.”

They fucked again, this time slower, less urgent, more touching. The groans from earlier became a whimper and once they finished, they shifted under the thick blankets and whispered about the last four years. Life without Tony. Tony. Tony. Tony.

“You’re in love with him, too, aren’t you?”

“How could anyone not love him?” 

How anyone could stop once they began. Tony was like the sun, bright and endless and looming and destructive if one got too close, but they did it anyway because it’s a brilliant, shining star that gave the world light.

“He has that effect on people.” Steve replied. Then they kiss, crying and finding comfort in each other, cobbling up parts of themselves, hoping like hell that it’s enough. Maybe someday, they might fit together like two puzzles if they ignore the missing parts. 

Peter longed for the missing part.

And Peter realized something: Tony Stark has always been both of their prisons. 

Might as well have company.

* * *

Throughout the years he spent in the Compound, Agent Romanoff became Nat and Captain America became _Cap,_ and then, in the quiet of the night with sheets pooled around them, _Steve._

But Peter always referred to Colonel Rhodes with the title, no matter how many times he’s said, “You can call me Rhodey.”

Peter didn’t want to call him that. It was a nickname reserved by Mr. Stark.

Peter snagged a mug and turned on the espresso machine. The one down in the lab was much better. But he hasn’t touched it, even years later. 

“Good morning.”

“Morning.”

“How’s Carole?” 

“Do you know what you’re doing, Peter?” Colonel Rhodes leaned against the breakfast bar with arms crossed over his chest. “Don’t give me that look. You know what I’m talking about.”

Peter sighed. He knew this would come. “I’m assuming you’re referring to the fact that Steve and I are sleeping together?”

If Colonel Rhodes spluttered he did a good job hiding it. “You’re an adult, I’m not going to give you a lecture. But...just, kid, really?”

“Well, we figured with crazy times like these, why not?” Peter shrugged, sipped the coffee. Dark roast, his favorite. Tony’s, too. “Seemed like a good idea.”

“A good idea,” Colonel Rhodes repeated, eyebrows raised. 

“Brilliant, really. We lost the universe, what else is there to lose?”

“There’s still half the world —”

“No,” Peter said, simply. “We lost the world.”

“Fucking hell, kid.” 

“Yes?” He finished the cup and fiddled with the machine until it started brewing another cup. 

“I didn’t know. I knew you were grieving but I didn't know it was like this.”

“You didn’t know what was like _this_?”

“That you’re grieving someone you’re in love with.” 

The words came out easy, but it felt like being slammed to the ground and getting his ass beat in battle. It was the truth and he didn’t have anything smart to say. He couldn’t do himself the injustice of denying the statement. 

Colonel Rhodes walked over and ruffled his hair with a sad smile.

* * *

Five years, five Aprils. Five springs that turn into a blooming summer and still no Tony Stark.

Then, five months later, in an October afternoon, everything changed.

It went like this. 

By some force of luck — maybe Dr. Strange foresaw their return through something as banal and stupid as a rodent — a rat freed Scott Lang from the Quantum Realm. 

Steve was sucking his cock and fingering his ass open when FRIDAY announced that Lang was outside the facility and seeking entrance. Shocked, he shoved Steve off his dick with too much force.

“Wasn’t he snapped? Part of the disappeared? It can’t be. How?” Peter grabbed his hoodie and threw Steve’s clothes across the room. “Does this mean —” 

Wide-eyed, Steve dressed quickly and they made their way to the conference room only to find Nat offering Lang her sandwich. 

"Have any of you read of the Quantum Realm?" Lang asked between bites, he mumbled about time, space, and Dr. Hank Pym.

Nat and Steve turned to Peter with raised eyebrows. “Does it mean we could get everyone back?”

“Ok, ok, it's not impossible. Improbable, unthinkable. Quantum fluctuation messes with the Planck scale and can trigger the Deutsch Proposition. Wait. Let me see, FRIDAY could you— " Peter gestured at the conference table, mind screaming and swinging in multiple directions. He can't let himself hope because if he hoped and they failed, he might try to drown himself in the lake. He took a deep breath. "Can you run a simulation for us? Check my notes from 2020 along with Dr. Banner and Dr. Pym’s available archival research material." He snapped his finger, "In the shape of Mobius Strip, inverted. Ok, process.”

“Model rendered.” FRIDAY announced.

“Holy fuck.”

“Pete? What is it?” Nat asked.

“This is it.” Peter stumbled forward, placing himself inches away from the screen. 

“Does that mean,” Steve started, rubbing his back and waiting for an answer. Peter could burst to tears. Just half an hour ago he was going to be fucked into oblivion so he wouldn’t have to feel anything just for fucking moment. Just for a few minutes he wouldn’t have to think of Tony. And now he’s the world fucking him into complete speechlessness.

“Yes.”

He’ll be back. Back to you. Back to me. Back to us.

* * *

Mrs. Awad’s shop was located next to Mr. Delmar’s deli. It always smelled like a blend of tea leaves and sandwiches. The burning incense couldn’t get rid of the greasy grill next door. She always offered a cup of Lebanese coffee every time Peter popped in.

“Come have a drink with me and I’ll read your fortune.” She grinned, wise and knowing. They sipped their coffee and chatted about the neighborhood, and did Peter hear that Mr. Delmar’s wife… 

Twice, Peter indulged her and he learned the word _Ya’aburnee_. 

“May you bury me,” she said, leaning over to see that Peter’s taken the final sip. “Make a wish.” 

She grabbed the coffee cup, turned it clockwise, then quickly flipped the cup to settle it’s lip on the saucer. “We’ll let that rest.” She nodded, smiling. “Ya’aburnee, little one. A beautiful word we love to say.” 

“What does it mean?” Peter returned the smile, already reminding himself to text Mr. Stark about learning how to make coffee in this style. He’d love the thick and rich taste, much better than the espresso machine in the lab.

“We Arab parents like to say it, you know, to our babies, _May you bury me. May I die before you. Because I love you too much to see you go._ ” 

Peter swallowed, mouth dry and belly cold with the reminder that for him, it was the other way around. Perhaps, his parents, American through-and-through, may have expressed a similar sentiment, but he buried them anyway. He visited their grave every couple of months because it hurts to know they’ll never see him grow up and struggle to be a man, to be human. 

One evening, when he was seven, Aunt May told him that it was worse to bury your child. But his parents’ passing still clawed up his chest, like a monster with thick, sharp talons that wanted to rip his heart and lungs out of its cavity. It’s still a dull ache. 

_Ya’aburnee_ went both ways.

* * *

“You excited to have them back, Pete?” Natasha smiled at him like something wicked and all too-knowing. It was mortifying to be teased like he was still fourteen with a crush. 

He’s a man now. Seen the end of the world, saw the Mad Titan, and survived. He’s fine. 

“We’ll have to get the stones first, Nat.”

But yes, his bones were shaking and his senses were all over the place. He felt like vomiting. Beside him, Steve touched his wrist, soft and quick. He smiled, nodding. “Excited to see Tony, again?”

“And here I thought that would only be a dream.”

“Stay loyal to it, Parker, you never know, some brilliant kid might come along and invent time-travel.”

“In fairness, I helped,” Dr. Banner said. 

“Ready?” Steve turned to the team, clicked the button, and all their helmets snapped on. 

“See you in a minute,” Nat said. 

_Avengers, Assemble._

* * *

Dr. Banner snapped. For a beat, they held their breaths. Time turned and there was the sound of a flock of birds singing outside. Peter knew, without a doubt, that oceans were filled again and that soon, people would wake up — hopefully home and not dropping out in the middle of nowhere.

FRIDAY informed them that a portal appeared outside the Compound and Peter glanced quickly at Steve. He looked hopeful, pained, and a little too rough for wear. Peter stopped himself from pulling Steve for a hug and running his hands over Steve’s hair. Instead, he broke off the facility in a run, swinging across the hallways, and leaping past the entrance. 

Outside, his senses were flooded with input — the smell, the feeling of autumn surrounding them, and then — 

Peter stopped. 

“Kid.” Tony was slumped over Dr. Strange.

He broke into a run until he finally stood in front of Tony. 

He was still in the tracksuit from five years ago. The arc reactor holding the nanobots stood firmly on his chest. Proud, gleaming blue. His hair was still the same — grayish brown and his goatee was still dark and finely cut. Peter could hear the pulse of his heart. He was whole. Human and back. As if he came back to Peter just because Peter willed it.

Peter sobbed, grabbing Tony, wrapping both arms around his chest and waist. “Tony, Tony, oh my god, Tony, you’re here. You’re alive. You’re here. You’re here. With me. With us. Tony. God, fuck. Tony, you’re safe. You’re here.”

Shocked and elated, he pressed closer, lining them up, Peter’s a foot taller than Tony now, so he dropped his head over Tony’s, rubbing and kissing his crown. “Fuck, Mr. Stark. I’m fuck, I can’t stop crying. I’m sorry, just. You’re here. You’re back.” 

Tony’s rubbing comforting circles around his back. If Peter didn’t have his powers, he’d be on the floor, knees weak. He held on tighter, not even paying attention to what he’s saying. Tony didn’t push him away. He stayed.

He didn’t know how much time passed, but he sensed that the rest of the team was behind them.

“Peter.” Tony pulled off but he didn’t let go. Instead, he put a hand on Peter’s cheek. It was warm and he could feel the pulse on Tony’s twist. He leaned his head on Tony’s hand and fought down another cry. He tried, but it was useless. “How. How long has it been?”

“Too long, Mr. Stark.”

“There was no other way,” Dr. Strange said beside them. He sounded resigned and winded, still dirt and blood on cheeks. “It’s what had to be done.”

“Bullshit.” Peter squeezed Tony’s shoulder, arranging Tony to lean on his chest. “Do you know what we lost?”

“You got it back, didn’t you?” 

Before he could level with Strange, Steve appeared beside them, clapping Tony’s back, and they shared a look that made Peter want to crawl to the ground and bury himself six feet under. He fought off the pang of questions and insecurity, instead focusing on the fact that Tony was very much alive. Beside him. Holding him. 

“Tony,” Steve didn’t try to remove him from Peter’s arms. Instead, he wrapped an arm around Tony, too. 

Peter wondered if he sounded as broken as Steve when he called Tony’s name. 

“Here, Cap, I’m here.”

Tony slumped further into their arms and fell into unconsciousness.

* * *

Tony was hooked to an IV and was required to stay in bed, but he convinced Colonel Rhodes to take him to the conference room for a debrief the day after they returned. 

“Resurrected, re-snapped, reborn,” Dr. Banner said, pushing his glasses up.

Tony was still in awe, throwing question after question about Dr. Banner’s 18-month tenure in the Gamma Lab. 

There was work to do. It was obvious to both Peter and Steve that Tony was itching to get down to the lab, read reports, catch up on the last five years. After the meeting, he looked up at the ceiling, holding his breath. “FRIDAY?”

“Still here, boss. Glad to have you back.”

“Thank you, baby.” 

He laughed, eyes dropping to Peter with a wink. Peter fought down a blush, he had to focus, but he was so damned happy. He didn’t remember what happiness felt like. It was having a warm belly, being able to sleep at night, and knowing that if you woke up from a nightmare, it was just a dream, and you’ll be alright.

* * *

After a few days in bed, Tony finally announced that he was fine. FRIDAY scanned him for any alien particles left over from Titan and he was in the clear. He made his way down to the lab, catching Peter messing with a new version of the Iron Spider suit. Call him sentimental, Tony was back, and this was the suit he wore on Titan. He needed it to be perfect.

“Kid,” Tony smiled. It was genuine, in the flesh, in person because Tony was alive and he was smiling at Peter and Peter didn’t have to stare at the ceiling in Steve’s room just so he could avoid the way Tony’s lips curled. “Am I late for our lab session?”

“Five years, give or take.” Peter willed himself to stay still because otherwise, he’d run to Tony and he already spent the last three days sitting on the foot of Tony’s bed, telling him about all that he’s missed: Ms. Pott’s reign as CEO of SI, developments with the web shooters, the New Avengers, and recruiting the Young Avengers. 

“Better late than never?”

“Always better if never late.” Peter returned, and fuck it, Tony’s alive and what’s the point in holding himself back. He strode over and pulled him into a hug, feeling the curl of Tony’s smile on his chest. 

“Five years, huh? I can’t believe you’re taller than me now, kid. Still too skinny, gotta eat more. Have they not been feeding you here?”

“Well, Nat’s speciality is vodka and Russian cake, so we’re good in that department.” Peter squeezed him once, tight, and they were pulling away too soon. “I missed you.”

“Miss you too, kid. I’m sorry.” 

“Not your fault. But I know you, you’ll feel guilty, so I’m here to tell you, not your fault. Call it chance.”

“When'd you get so wise, huh?”

Tony eyed him for a moment, eyes large and brown. Very much alive. Peter could cry again. But before he could press the back of his hands to his eyes, Tony’s thumb pressed on the spaces under his eyelids. 

“Not wise, just spent five years grieving you.”

Tony exhaled, brought their foreheads together. “I’m here. I’m here.” He repeated again and again until Peter was too exhausted from crying.

* * *

For Tony, it was just yesterday that they were in Titan. 

For Peter, it’s been five years of the world moving in circles, around and around.

He didn’t know that his life has been on hold since he was 16. 

For Steve, it’s been seven years, nearly a decade standing in limbo, wandering, and wondering if someone could swim out of the chasm they threw themselves in.

For Tony, it’s only been two years and maybe that wasn’t enough time to stitch himself together.

It’s alright, after years of patching himself up Peter’s learned to be good with the needle and thread.

* * *

The months passed. Peter’s never been happier. 

“It’s good to see you, smile,” Nat said. She kicked the bottle because Tony refused to live with another alcoholic, so now she’s taken to knitting. But she still spent hours in the conference room talking to Mrs. Barton about Clint’s sacrifice in Vormir.

“Did I not smile before?” Peter shrugged off the mask and pushed his hair back. He was hopping from foot to foot having returned from parole. He wanted to get back down to the lab and see if Tony was still up.

“Not like this. Not even when —”

“Yeah, yeah." He laughed, a little sore, a little remorseful because Steve still ate meals with them but he’s never close. Then more serious, he added, “You know, all Cap and I ever talked about was him. He was the only thing.”

“There must have been friendship.”

“Yeah, that’s all it was.”

“Two sad people trying to be less sad together.” Nat laced their fingers and gave it a squeeze. Maybe it was the same for her and Agent Barton.

“It helped. Talking about him with someone who knew what it’s like to love him. Yeah, it was that.”

* * *

He and Tony spent four months travelling all over the world. 

Colonel Rhodes protested. “We just got you back!”

“Stop being so overprotective, I’m fine.” Tony rolled his eyes, then grinned at Peter. “Besides, I’ll have the Spiderling with me.”

Peter was ecstatic, running and leaping around the Compound after Tony asked him, “Wanna get out of here? See the world with me, kid?” It sounded like a goddamn proposal, better than marriage, really, because he’d have Tony all to himself for months, and they’d get to know each other again, Tony would learn all about what Peter has been up to in the last few years. 

(Short answer: Mourning, always mourning.)

Sometimes they took the jet. Sometimes they flew across mountains, Tony in the Iron Man suit with his arms around Peter. He still called Peter “kid,” but never with the fondness of talking to a child. Sometimes Peter imagined the name as akin to sweetheart, honey, baby, love. 

Across the globe, they ate in restaurants, in burger joints, in people’s houses, Tony wanted to re-learn the world and how it’s changed, so what better way to understand what he — both as Tony Stark and Iron Man — could do other than to hear it from the mouths of the people themselves. 

There were separate bedrooms that bled into shared suites with two queen beds and late nights with Peter crying about all that he’s lost — Ned, Aunt May, and Tony. Tony, Tony, Tony, always Tony. 

He spoke of their battles in New York, his time paroling, and how he graduated from Columbia two years early because what was the point of pretending he couldn’t. 

“You happy, kid?”

“Happiest I’ve been in a long time.” Peter pretended to think, tilting his head up and pouting because he could be fucking happy and fucking silly and fucking laugh because Tony was back. “Five years, I think.” 

“Christ, you’re too honest kid.” Tony laughed, and the sound was almost better than getting the other half of the world back.

“The world ended, Mr. Stark. There’s no time for omissions.” 

On their way back to New York, Tony sat across from him in the jet with a box of Randy’s donuts between them. Promise fulfilled. All Peter had to do was put his heart in a cage and keep it there.

“What’d I tell you, kid, best donuts in the world.” Tony’s hair had some greys but his eyes were bright, dancing, alive and he looked at Peter like they shared a secret no one else can know.

* * *

When they returned to the Compound, fresh-faced and smelling like sea, Steve ran out to meet them in the Hanger. He pulled them both into a tight, relieved hug, and Tony cracked jokes about Captain America missing the rest of the Avengers. 

Peter took a breath, squeezing Steve’s back, and smiling up at him. They’ll have to talk, soon. He’s grateful, for everything, really, but he’s too wrapped up in Tony’s return and the promise that they’ll spend the next week brainstorming tech ideas in the lab after they recovered from jet lag.

“Glad to have you back,” Steve said, hands lingering on Peter’s shoulders. Peter glanced quickly at Tony, catching the curious gaze there. “Welcome home.”

In the lab later that week, Peter walked Tony through his notes on time-travel over take-out, the conversation coming easy as it had for months now.

Finishing the last of the noodles, Tony pushed the box to the side and nodded over to the sofa, where Steve’s sketch box remained unmoved. Briefly, he wondered whether Steve forgot it there. 

“So you and Cap, huh?” Tony said, no accusation in his eyes, no pleads for an examplation, just subdued interest.

“For a little while, yeah,” Peter admitted, taking a sip of his soda. “Yeah.”

“And now?”

“No.” Peter shook his head, leaning across the workshop table. Tony was close to him, eyes tired from staring at the holo-screens for the last eight hours, but very much alive. _Alive. Alive. Alive._ Real. Peter’s always listening to his pulse hoping it would never stop. 

“Why? 

“Because you’re here.” He said, simple, the words came easily. It was the truth. Tony had to know that. 

“I’m — listen, if you think this is about me and Steve’s history, then don’t let that stop you. I don’t want to get — “

Peter grasped Tony’s hand, squeezed it. “It’s not that, Tony.”

There’s no resentment or jealousy there, Peter almost wished there was. There was just curiosity in Tony’s eyes, like he couldn’t figure out how Peter and Steve, Captain America and Spiderman, out of all people, found themselves in each other’s bed after the war. 

“We were lonely. We missed you like crazy, and I think some part of us, both of us, me and Cap, thought each other’s memory of you was all we had left. Honestly, we talked about you half the time.”

“And the other half?”

Peter winked. “Still spent talking about you.”

Peter long figured that war did crazy things to a person’s psyche and sometimes people hold hard onto what’s left, even if it’s just an estimation, they’d settle for the close thing.

* * *

“Did you talk to Tony?” 

They were at the diner. By some unspoken agreement, they hadn’t been here in months. Not since, well, Tony returned nearly a year ago. They ordered coffee as if they knew neither of them could stomach a full meal. Let the acid of the coffee burn through them until the only parts that remained was both their stupid hearts. It bled for the same man.

“Yeah.” Steve nodded, twisting his hands. “He forgives me. I don’t deserve it. But he does. Said we lost too much. He might still be in shock. I don’t think he’d forgive me otherwise.”

“Of course, he forgives you. He loves you, sometimes that outweighs the anger, Cap. And...well, I think, losing half the universe changes a man’s perspective.”

Steve hummed, looking at Peter with those kind blue eyes. They’ve seen too much of the world, but they’ve never been uninspired, not even after the snap. He intertwined their hands and kissed Peter’s knuckles. 

“What do you wanna do now?”

Steve’s looking at him with so much adoration and respect. Peter’s chest ached. Peter wondered when Steve learned to read him so well. 

“You can’t be serious, Steve.” 

“I want to try again, yes, of course, I do. But well, here’s your chance.”

“No, here’s _your_ chance. You could. Of course, he loves you. Things are different now, you could —”

In the beginning, Peter wondered where Steve was when they had their legs wrapped around each other. He realized Steve must be thinking about Tony. Peter was thinking of Tony, too. He knew Steve’s body, his face when he came, the anguish and broken sound of his cries. Peter held him at nights when Steve’s grief became too much and he explained Siberia and how he fucked up and how it can’t be and how and why Tony was dead and not Steve. And Steve rubbed circles on Peter’s back as he choked on his tears while he explained Titan.

“Like you said, things are different now, sweetheart. I had my chance, my time. Here’s yours.”

“You know, he doesn’t see me like that.” Peter wanted to rub his eyes but he didn’t want to let go of Steve, who has been his company in this goddamn prison cell called love. Maybe they didn’t love each other like they loved Tony, but it was there, all the same. A little sadder. It made their stay a little less lonely. 

“Give it time.” 

“What about us,” Peter asked, too afraid to look into Steve’s eyes. “Still friends?”

“Yeah, Pete. Still friends. I’m still here. Whenever you need me.” Then, he added, “Whenever both of you need me.”

“I’m still here, too, then. Can’t get rid of me just because Sam and Bucky are back.” 

“Stubborn ass.”

“Now you’ve got two stubborn asses to care for, Cap.”

Maybe Steve will always be sore, always filled with regrets, because while he and Tony spent some evenings talking on the rooftop, they always looked too hurt to try again. Peter recalled the ring Steve found, vibranium, gleaming under the workshop’s lights. 

It’s a time that passed and things have changed.

A fundamental reorientation.

* * *

He didn’t know when things changed for Tony. But they did. Peter’s always hoped and never assumed, already satisfied revolving around Tony's orbit. He wondered whether it was slowly, inch by inch, walls and borders broken as the years passed. If Tony had a sudden realization, an epiphany one night in the lab. Peter didn’t have the courage to ask. One day, he promised himself, he’d work up to it.

Peter was 23 turning 24, still beside Tony, steadfast and patient. They were anchored down at the lab in a debrief with the New Avengers and the Fantastic Four. Tony complained about Reed Richards the entire time, noting how he was an ass and how Sue could be with a man with an inflated ego, and who cares about Reed, just because he was named Mr. Fantastic it didn’t mean that he actually was.

Peter laughed, bumping their shoulders together as he asked FRIDAY to order them a pizza.

Tony rolled his eyes and sent in his mission report to the archives and for Director Fury’s perusal. 

Sometimes, he woke up in the middle of the night, too afraid that he’d been dreaming all along or was stuck in another dimension where Tony was alive and he’d have to somehow return a reality where Tony vanished. So, he’d scale the facility and watch Tony sleep, listening to the beat of his pulse. Every exhale. Every inhale. 

One time, Tony woke from a nightmare and yelled at Peter for giving him a heart attack. Then, he opened the window and let Peter swing inside. They had FRIDAY play a film and spent the rest of the evening, quiet, a little shaky, just watching TV in bed.

He spent his birthday in the city with Ned and MJ, seeing some indie-band in Midtown. Steve drew him a portrait of Spiderman and gave him a hug. Sometimes, Peter was distraught with how kind and patient Steve could be. He always wished Peter the best. And while Steve and Tony have mended their relationship over the years, neither of them tried again. 

He’s always had to chew the inside of his mouth from asking if Tony ever learned that Steve found the ring, and did that really mean what it meant. Could Tony imagine himself to love that deeply again? Peter was resigned for having what he has now, though.

* * *

“Johnny Storm asked you out again?” Tony raised an eyebrow as Peter flicked off Johnny’s retreating figure. “Are you ever gonna say yes?”

“Nope. Why would I. I have everything I want here.” 

“Sometimes, I don’t know what to do with you, kid.” Tony sighed, fiddling with the controls on his left forearm. He left the faceplate up, sweat running down his temples. He was goddamn handsome, ripe with age, and everything that Peter needed to live — summed up in the body of a man too great for words. 

“Well, lucky for you, you’ll never have to know what to do without me, Mr. Stark.” He said, shooting a web at Tony just to mess with him. He blasted it with ease, a smile on his face. 

It’s true. Peter knew life without him. Tony should never experience that. 

Tony licked his lips, huffing a tired laugh. “Dimsum?” 

“It’s a date!” 

When they got home, Tony insisted on FRIDAY scanning him. He was already healing, enhanced powers and all, but Tony sat him down on the sofa, stripped his mask off and applied ointment on the cut on Peter’s face. They both smelled like the sewer system, battle sweat, and motor oil. Tony blew on Peter’s cut, smiled, and said, “All better now.”

“Everything is, yeah.”

“Yeah, yeah, sweet talker.”

“I learned from the best.”

* * *

Peter was 25 and jerking off in his bed at the Compound with three fingers up his ass. Moaning when he pulled off to shove a dildo inside his hole. He hasn’t been fucked by another person in a long time. Not when the one he wanted to be inside him, hold him down, whisper, _kid, look at you, baby, baby, baby_ was finally back. 

It’s been years and he’s never tried to hide how he felt about Tony. It remained unwavering even in fucking death. Waiting, just waiting until Tony looked at him as someone he could want. He’s waited nearly a decade, lived without Tony for half of that. There were nights he cried himself to sleep, grateful that he could see that grin in person, follow the beat of his heart, the line of his smirk.

They were on the Compound’s rooftop, messing around with Tony’s repulsor boots, trying to program the nano-bots into roller skates when out of nowhere, Peter blurted, “You know, I can’t lose you, again, right?”

Because the bleeding edge’s boots turned into actual roller skates, Tony gilded towards Peter, a little wobbly, putting too much weight on the left side of his body. Tony’s smiling wide, easy like they’ve never lost each other — like Peter’s never lost him before. He paused in front of Peter, slightly taller in the armor. “You won’t lose me, kid. Promise.”

Peter placed both hands on Tony’s shoulder and pressed forward. The RT flickered blue and bright, another reminded of what they’ve survived. Peter loved this man so much, he could burst. Explode like a damned supernova. “Listen,” he finally said, pulling back to stare into Tony’s encouraging eyes. They’re slightly wet, maybe from the wind, but maybe things were finally falling into place. Maybe he finally understood. “I invented time travel to get you back.” 

“I know,” Tony placed a hand over Peter’s, the one on his shoulder. He squeezed it before interlacing their fingers, coming as easy as breathing and waking to a new world. 

“It means... I love you. You know that, I love you, right? Full stop. You have to know. After all this time. Ten years, my whole goddamn life. Even in your death, I never stopped. You can’t stop. It never faded and it was never a crush, Tony, it was always more. I never thought you’d think of me that way. And maybe it’s new to you, but it’s _always been_ for me. I know what I want and I’m saying that I’m here. If you want me, and what the hell is the point in waiting or doubts when we have _this_ here. If you don’t want me, then fine, but I refuse to live without you. I can’t lose you. If I did, I’d invent something again to get you back because I’m a stubborn ass, just like you. We’re alive and I lost you. Do you understand that? I lost you once, I know what it’s like to lose you. And I don’t think I can live with myself if I at least didn’t try — try to make you happy, ask and see if you’ll have me too.”

“Kid, what’s some speech,” Tony blinked, a smile slowly slotting into place. “Yes.”

“Yes?” Peter was crying, but he didn't care, and Tony, brought his free hand to wipe his tears before kissing each eyelid. 

“Really?”

“I can’t argue with your logic. And what the hell. Like you’ve said a million times, the world already ended then restarted. I wanna be happy. I loved you then, don’t doubt that, Pete, please.” He pushed Peter’s hair back, kissing his face again and again. “And I love you now. Never loved you any less. Always more, always turning into this — more wanting, consuming like a goddamn equation I can’t figure out. It’s easy to fall in love with you when I finally got my head out of my ass and let myself.”

Tony tilted his chin, making all his fantasies and teenage dreams come true, and kissed him. It was like Peter was born just for that very reason, for that very moment where Tony Stark slipped his tongue in, kissed him stupid, then whispered, “I love you, too, like the way you love me.” 

That night, Tony took him to bed and showed him how much love he’s capable of and Peter kissed him with the force of five-years filled with grief. Tony opened him up, voice reverent, asking, _is this mine, is this mine, are you mine, Pete, is this for me, Peter, baby, do you — can I._ And Peter nodded, frantic, crying with hot tears spill down his cheeks as Tony licked his mouth open and coaxed a groan out of him. When Tony pressed in, fucking into him, eyes blown wide, lips red and bitten, shifting above him, fucking in and out, Peter chanted, _yes, for you, all for you, always, always been yours, has been forever, for years, a decade, my entire life, it’s yours, yours, baby, Tony, yours_ and Tony kissed the tears from his eyes and whispered _I love you, I love you, I’m here, I’m back. I’m not going, I’m here, baby._

After, when they were both sated, mumbling in quiet, too happy that they were almost fearless, Peter kissed Tony’s lips, his eyes, his cheekbones, and said, “You bury me this time.”

 _May you bury me. May I die before you. Because I love you too much to see you go._

Because Peter knew the next time it happened, he wouldn’t survive.

“No, never,” Tony whispered in between kisses. 

But Peter understood that he meant _stay._

Peter kissed him, trying to capture all the love deep in his bones until there’s nothing left but the promise of more. Another 10 years, another lifetime. No burials. 

He’d bury himself in the deepest parts of Tony and call it _home_.

**Author's Note:**

> I took it off anon because I was encouraged by lovely commenters who understood the purpose of this fic <3 and yes, for those interested, I've roped my evil witch of a friend for a remix and she promised to ruin me with it. Note, they literally said, "I live to stab you. They invented the knife emoji just for me and our friendship." Good, I can't wait.
> 
> Comments and kudos mean the world <3


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